


Come Along Home to Jesus:

by ShinSolo



Category: 30 Seconds to Mars
Genre: Allusions to Historic African-American Slavery, M/M, POV Second Person, Religious References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-17 20:56:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinSolo/pseuds/ShinSolo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Jared, calm down. It’s just me that’s got you, babe,” he whispers, the words warm against the back of your neck. It’s habit that causes you to so easily relax beneath him, but it’s love that keeps you from pulling away, liquid trust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Along Home to Jesus:

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t own Jared or Shannon Leto. I don’t own the old African American freedom/work hymn, “Don’t be Weary, Traveler” either; however, it has long since passed into public domain. It -- and others like it -- can be read in their entireties here: http://www.negrospirituals.com/. The site also provides a nice history of how such hymns came to be.

 

 

_Don’t be weary, traveler,_

_Come along home to Jesus._

 

After months away from home and week after week on the road, the days begin to blur together. Every night ends an hour later, morning’s first light comes five minutes sooner. It’s too easy to forget where you are, which city you just left, and which state you’ll sleep in next. Too many people know you’re name, yet no one feels familiar, and the stars outside your window are the only things besides yourself that can possibly feel so tired, so old.

 

The bus creaks as it makes its way down the highway, and no matter how loud you turn up your headphones you swear you can still hear it. And even though you’re seated, your knees feel like they might give in at any moment. Even with closed eyes you can still see the aluminum walls closing in around you, sense the change in pressure. You sigh and bite into your bottom lip, imagining the taste of blood despite knowing you’ve yet to break the skin. The air around you is heavy and humid. Your palms sweat while you shudder, a sudden chill like passing through a ghost, stepping on your grave.

 

There is a voice rising inside of you. A voice stronger than any voice you’ve had in days. A voice you can’t control -- can’t contain -- any longer.

 

“Stop!” You scream, and to your amazement the driver actually listens, his head glancing back toward you in confusion as he pulls the bus over onto the highway’s shoulder.

 

Someone calls your name from the back, but you’re already to your feet. Your hands press against the glass till it gives and socked feet meet asphalt and gravel. Before you know it, you’re already running.

 

_My head get wet with the midnight dew,_

_Come along home to Jesus._

_Angels bear me witness too,_

_Come along home to Jesus._

 

Briars tear at your legs, try their hardest to enslave you, and you succumb to them several times, tripping and stumbling before finally making it to the edge of the corn field. The stalks rise high above your head, re-christening you with drops gathered from the day’s showers. Your socks quickly become soiled from the damp earth, but your only thoughts are of freedom. A hymn you’d thought you’d long forgotten echoes inside your head, a steady two line rhythm repeated over and over despite the changing words, and as you run the hymn’s rhythm falls in perfect sync with the beating of your heart.

 

The same person that had called out to you before, calls your name again -- only this time they’re even closer. You quicken your pace, unable to bear the thought of being recaptured, re-trapped. But in the end, he’s still faster than you. He always has been.

 

 Together the two of you fall to the ground amongst the corn. His weight pins you and the tall stalks bend down toward you, laden almost to the point of breaking with the fruits of their own crop.

 

“Jared, calm down. It’s just me that’s got you, babe,” he whispers, the words warm against the back of your neck. It’s habit that causes you to so easily relax beneath him, but it’s love that keeps you from pulling away, liquid trust.

 

_Where to go I did not know,_

_Come along home to Jesus._

_Ever since He freed my soul,_

_Come along home to Jesus._

 

Shannon’s lips press to your throat, his tongue darting out to taste your damp skin. He rolls you over onto your back before brining his mouth down on top of yours. Teeth clash together, hands grasp at clothing, and the yoke of your troubles is completely lifted from your shoulders. Years slip away as wrinkles fade, and the only thoughts left in your mind revolve around the way Shannon’s callused hands feel against your skin and whether or not you’re going to be able to undress him first.

 

Above you the stars seem to brighten in approval and the waning moon slips away from the veil of cloud she had been toying with for most of the night.

 

Ten minutes pass and you find yourself sighing again for the second time in the same night, but this time it’s a sigh of content. Your brother places one last kiss to your forehead and smiles down at you.

 

Neither of you speak as you make your way back to the bus, because no words are needed. Bits of earth and husk cling to his skin and your hair, but it doesn’t even matter. Momentarily sated and at peace with the world, you can finally breath easy once more.

 

_I look at de worl’ an’ de worl’ look new,_

_Come along home to Jesus._

_I look at my hands an’ they look so too,_

_Come along home to Jesus._

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> A.N. I've always had a soft spot for "freedom songs" and African American history. Not really sure why, considering I'm not "African" or even 100% "American." I just love the strength and power found within them. If anyone hasn't already read, "Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl" by Harriet Jacobs, or "Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave" by Frederick Douglass, I highly recommend both of them. Both are actual autobiographies from two people unfortunate enough to find themselves enslaved in the United States in the 1800s. Breathtakingly Inspirational.
> 
> Much love,  
> Shin
> 
>  
> 
> Written 08/15/2009.


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